Cereal
by saffroncremebrulee
Summary: COMPLETE! Investigative journalist Mayumi's notes on the mysterious disappearance of Miho Nosaka. Brainy neo-noir mystery featuring Season 0 characters. AU. Not intended for young audiences.
1. Truth

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters, stories, and themes of YGO. This is a work of fiction, though the basic premise this story (i.e., characters investigating another character's disappearance) has already been written on.

I picked Miho and Mayumi almost at random: Miho because she's a sympathetic character and Mayumi because her personality is relatively unknown, which makes her a perfect narrator.

The title is an homage to a brilliant podcast series (aka not dorky little me who really, really likes puns). Cookies if you can name it, but I'm not affiliated with that organization or story in any way.

I just happen to be very enamored with the idea of telling a detective story bit by bit. Blame it on my love of everything Agatha Christie.

* * *

Dear Notes:

This journal has been ten years in the making.

I want to talk (er...write?) about the nature of truth today.

Specifically, the unknowable nature of truth.

How is it that we know what we know? What, if anything, can we be certain of from the things we claim to know? Is everything knowable to us or are certain things simply impossible to know, forever glittering in the distance like so many stars, visible to the eye but incomprehensible to the mind? Is what we know truly what we know or is it a memory- a fiction of sorts- conjured by our brains to remember the unknown as best as we can?

Heraclitus (a wise man) once posited that we cannot step in the same river twice. Each time we do so, we in fact change the nature of the river and the river itself changes us. We do not meet the same set of circumstances any more than the sun sets on the same earth each day.

Let's assume Heraclitus is right. Does this mean that what we believe to be true changes us and the nature of what is true?

If that is the case, then, how can we know with any certainty the veracity of our memories?

I have been mulling over that question for the past decade.

Why, you ask?

Almost ten years ago today, my friend Miho Nasaka disappeared on her way home after school. She has never been found. There are rumors that she flew voluntarily, like Anzu eventually did, to America, to pursue her dream of becoming a real Disney princess in California. (Apparently the Disney Corporation hires people to role-play characters. Isn't that strange?) There are rumors that she eloped with Yami Bakura- more on him later- but that's a tall tale best served cold with a hefty helping of skepticism. Darker rumors than that fly- an overzealous admirer, collateral for a business deal gone bad, or perhaps the age-old, cliche explanation of simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

I've spent the last ten years trying to piece together what happened to Miho. I'm not a detective, but I am (I refuse to use "was" until we know for certain) Miho's friend. I owe it to her to keep searching until I find an answer.

Thankfully, I am not as silly as I used to be, so this journey should prove a dark and gritty one.

Miho was like the older sister I never had. Anzu, too, and I have both of them to credit for my current career in investigative journalism. Anzu for her never-ending supply of courage and Miho...for being herself and for inspiring me to search for the truth. (Sideonote- can you imagine I used to have a crush on Jounouchi, who didn't even know I existed? What could I have possibly been thinking? Oh right...I was fourteen and not very schooled in anything other than silly teenage feelings.)

In a way, I have been working on this story since then. A bit of my childhood vanished with Miho; I have been searching for that, too, but I have a feeling we would all have a better chance of finding Miho than the person I used to be. The people we all used to be, in fact, before the sun set on our naivete.

I have painstakingly gathering information from every single source in search of an answer. I thought it would be easy to add up what does and doesn't belong for a clear picture of what happened.

What I found instead is a collection of mirages. Sift through them with me. Perhaps we will find that elusive truth together.

What we know for certain is that Miho is gone and what we want to know is where and why. Anzu, Yuugi, Honda, Jonouchi, and Bakura have all agreed to share their recollections with me. Even Chuono-san spoke with me from behind an ornate hand-held fan. We will get to why in the pages that follow.

* * *

I suppose I should start with what I remember before recording what others recollect. Where better to start than with me?

I remember it was a normal day. Sun shining. Birds chirping. Clouds dancing.

Nothing about that morning or afternoon betrayed the horrors that followed.

We ate lunch together in the cafeteria. I remember because Anzu packed Yuugi's lunch that day (if memory serves, Grandpa Motou had been away on an expedition) and Yuugi turned an adorable shade of crimson when he found she had accidentally packed two pairs of chopsticks instead of one. Jou, oaf that he was, teased Yuugi about "sharing " more than rice with his caring wife. Yuugi nearly chewed through his tongue in embarrassment. Anzu laughed and placed the extra pair of chopsticks in her hair. She and Miho exchanged a look.

It shouldn't surprise you that I didn't really understand what was going on at that point. I was fourteen and Jou's additional comments about making a video didn't really make sense to me until much later. Evidently Anzu got it then, because Jou and Honda's laughter was abruptly smothered with a miso facial, which made Yuugi and Miho shoot water out of their noses.

Little did we all know that would be the last time life would be so simple.

What I remember now, then, is a very normal day. I have relived it over and over and it is still the same silly and happy day as the others. There was nothing special about that day that portended the disaster that followed. I was still the young hanger-on clinging to Anzu's every word. Jou and Honda were the slightly dirty-minded teenagers they were. Yuugi was his usual bashful self. Anzu was as caring and kind like always. And Miho was...Miho. Cracking jokes about silly things and whining about homework like the rest of us.

Which is why we were all blindsided when Miho disappeared on her usual walk home from school. She bid us all good-bye after Math (was it math? Ten years have blurred my memory, but that's not the point per se). Her long lavender hair swung in the breeze as she carried her orange lunchbox. She stood in front of the school gates. A cheery "See you guys tomorrow!" echoed when she turned.

But when tomorrow came, Miho was not at the gates with her usual ivory scarf and her special D-Shock watch.

At first we thought she simply got lost on her way home. She has done that before. You see, sometimes Miho gets distracted, which lands her in some interesting scenarios. Like the time she spent a night locked in the Domino's premier department store because she accidentally fell asleep on one of the showroom mattresses and the janitor thought she was part of the display. (For the record we talk to him, too, after it was established that she truly was missing, but if you ask me that's barking up the suspect. Let's leave that stone un-turned for now).

So we didn't worry about Miho the first day she missed school. We figured she "sick" and visiting a new fashion boutique that just opened. Or perhaps she accidentally walked in the wrong direction and was now at a police station waiting for her parents to pick her up. (And yes, she's done that before, too). They were on an overseas on a trip and would get her when they landed. Or something like that. Really, all we imagined were some pretty quasi-reasonable situations that only teenagers would dream up.

We started to worry in earnest the second day. It wasn't like Miho to be "sick" two days in a row, no matter how gorgeous the pastry-shaped gowns at the new boutique looked. Her parents returned and she wasn't waiting for them at home. No messages. Not with the police or any of us as far as we knew, but it was later discovered that she jammed a small, handwritten note in the back of my locker, allegedly right before she walked home.

Mr. and Mrs. Nosaka called the police.

Radio silence the next few days.

And then...a flurry of activity after the volunteer search team found an orange lunchbox fifteen blocks from Miho's home.

The finding is not strange in and of itself. Orange lunchboxes were all the rage in the early 2000s and it's reasonable to expect some of them are lost or go missing. That's what we thought, too, until we saw the only one of those lunchboxes was engraved with a small star with five sides. A name on each corner. Me, Anzu, Yuugi, Jou, and Honda. Miho's name was written in the center of the star in her favorite purple gel pen.

The location was strange, though. Of course, there's a reasonable explanation for finding Miho's orange lunchbox anywhere. It's possible that someone had stolen it and dumped it at a site that ended up coincidentally close to the residence of one of the key persons of interest in her disappearance (if you're wondering, it's Bakura and we'll hear from him).

The more likely scenario is that Bakura is somehow involved and, given his penchant for memory loss at the time, perhaps he knew more than he let on. Then again, as far-fetched as it is, we can't discount the strange vagaries of randomness, either. So really, the discovery of the lunchbox opened a pantry stocked with cans of worms.

What we do know for certain is that Miho's pink leather wallet- which we all know never left her person- was in her lunchbox. If motive was simple robbery, then the thieves were sure as hell not after the money or debit cards. Her school identification card was also left behind.

Which raises the rather insidious question of whether they (or perhaps he or she, just one person) were after if money and identity were not the motives. Miho herself? One of her parents' disgruntled employees? Was it possible that this was just a case of mistaken identity? Is Miho the unlucky recipient of a prize no one wanted from fate?

I've mulled over these questions countless times. Miho's case is most puzzling, even for an experienced investigative journalist like me. The case is fascinating not just because I know and admired her, but because there is a preponderance of evidence both for and against all of the suspects, whom we will examine and cross-examine in due time. Hence the murky search for answers.

We've touched upon Bakura already, but there is also the capsule monsters collector, the perverted psychic who tried to drug Anzu, even Mr. and Mrs. Nosaka. We'll talk to students in our grade in due time- Kaiba, for one, and that freaky kid who used to beat others for fun. We'll talk to Honda, too, though I refuse to believe he is a viable suspect until the evidence says otherwise.

All in all, Miho's case is one of too many suspects and not enough evidence. Or not definitive enough evidence.

The truth is an elusive thing.

After examining what we know and don't know, I-for one- still believe.

Miho, wherever you are, we're still searching for you. This is what we have so far and we are working to find the rest.

* * *

**Thoughts? Is this worth continuing?**

Please PM if you would like to beta/trade ideas/kick my butt into gear when I get lazy. Must love Agatha Christie.


	2. Patterns

**Disclaimer: Do not own YGO or Dostoyesvky's masterpiece _Crime and Punishment_. **

**To answer a question, yes, I'm borrowing Season 0 characters for this experiment. So glad you guys think it's interesting. :) **

* * *

**Entry #2 **

It's natural for us to search for patterns.

Our brains are wired to locate similarities between disparate objects and events. It's one of our key coping mechanisms for dealing with this strange and disjointed world we share. We like patterns because they tie things up into neat little packages- strings of numbers into coherent equations, pieces of puzzles into wholes, and parts of sentences into collective ideas. It's comforting for us to think that there is some underlying logic to the experiences we share. In short, we all want to believe there is some reason for the lives we live.

The danger of searching for patterns, of course, is looking for (and finding them) where none exist. Coincidences appeal to our natural tendency to connect things that are- perhaps, upon further reflection- so tenuously connected as to not merit the description at all. I think of it like my teenage crush on Jou: upon first glance, the perfect marriage of luck and circumstance. Upon second (and third, fourth, fifth...) glances, a most unrealistic divorce of reality from naivete.

Why am I ruminating over this, you ask?

Because I've been searching for patterns for a decade. Some days I think I've finally found the strings that tie it all together. Other days- like now- I feel as if I've been chasing shadows in a misty fog, tripping over my own feet and not even realizing the circles I'm traveling.

Let's start with the sequences that are definitely connected.

The investigation hit a fever pitch after the discovery of the lunchbox. Forensics dismantled and re-mantled the rectangular piece of metal over and over again, to no avail. Too many fingerprints- Miho's, mine, Anzu's, Yuugi's, Honda's, and Jou's were quickly eliminated due to our shared lunchtime shenanigans. Coincidentally, a partial thumbprint matching both me and Anzu were found on Miho's wallet but, seeing as we had lunch together that day, it was likely a transfer from when Miho used her new debit card to buy us new miso soups after Anzu treated Jou and Honda to our first bowls. Quite a dead end in terms of new leads, but in the interests of full disclosure I'm disclosing the fact that I was also a suspect, however briefly. Anzu, too, though I find that as questionable as taking investment advice from a box of cereal.

What isn't questionable is the fact that the debit card was still present in that hot pink wallet. Only Miho's fingerprints were found. Also in the same lunchbox, there was a corner of a receipt that traced back to a $30,000 (yes, you read that correctly, $30,000 USD) withdrawal from a bank twelve blocks in the other direction from where the lunchbox was found. For those of you drawing the mental map, it would seem as if Miho- or at least her wallet and lunchbox- traveled from school to the ATM before whatever that happened to her happened, assuming of course it happened where her lunchbox was found.

Here's where the predicament of pattern searching comes in. No one at the bank remembers seeing Miho withdrawing what at the time was a significant amount of cash (keep in mind security cameras were not exactly the norm back then and human memory is notoriously unreliable, as we've touched on before), even for the only child of two wealthy parents with incredible access to what must have been a significant amount of cash. Mr. and Mrs. N specifically made the deal with the bank in order to allow Miho (or someone acting as Miho) to withdraw as much as she wanted whenever she wanted.

But no money was found in the lunchbox. Not even a trace of the usual chemicals that would have accompanied the presence of cash had the money been stored in that orange tin box.

This peculiar phenomenon raised a series of interesting questions. Who, if not Miho herself, withdrew the money? More importantly, where were the funds? Was its location even a viable clue or was it a red herring planted by the suspects, designed to waste resources while they planned their escape? Was Miho herself behind her supposed disappearance with money that her parents specifically set aside for her before they left? True, $30,000 USD is a hefty chunk of change, especially when converted into Yen, but it's not so significant of an amount that one teenager can hope to live on it forever. Given what we know about Miho's rather expensive tastes, it's curious that she didn't withdraw more cash if she was behind her disappearance or at least taken her debit card with her as an emergency lifeline. It's possible she knew that the debit card would eventually be traced back to her, but taking into consideration she was fifteen at the time it would seem to point to an impulsive decision as opposed to one borne of foresight.

The question then shifts to why. What would prompt Miho herself to orchestrate such a thing, if she orchestrated it at all?

For a partial answer (perhaps as close to Miho as we will ever get), we turn to Mr. and Mrs. Nosaka, Miho's brilliant but somewhat irresponsible (and I mean this in the most loving way possible) parents as far as looking after their daughter is concerned, at least to the detectives who managed the case.

Mr. and Mrs. Nosaka were- at the time- two of the most brilliant leaders of Japan's burgeoning electronics industry. The exact nature of some of their work was and remain sensitive, but suffice it to say their brilliance extended to their work only and not beyond. That is not to say Mr. and Mrs. Nosaka were bad parents per se, just that, when it came to Miho, their work necessitated they leave the majority of her upbringing to nannies and outsiders. So it's no surprise to most that Miho grew up loving fairy tales and Prince Charmings and the like. I've always thought it was a way for her heart to always remain as childish and pure as the little girl who never really grew up. Hence the constant starry-eyed-ness that masked a certain loneliness and her occasionally lapses of judgement when it came to strangers. (Keep in mind that we have all made foolish mistakes in our youth so we shouldn't fault Miho for this).

It's difficult to find transcripts of Mr. and Mrs. Nosaka's interviews for the obvious reasons. Influence, money, and prestige have a tendency to make even the most relevant pieces of information disappear without a trace into spirals of bureaucracy. (I've tried to untangle that web many times but have long since given up). What we do know is that Mr. and Mrs. N were in America _not_, as they originally informed the detectives, to broker a top-secret deal but rather for Mrs. N, who was undergoing medical care at the time for a certain disease that has long since claimed her. It is said that Mrs. N regretted not telling Miho the truth, but sometimes I wonder if it isn't better if Miho hadn't known what happened to her parents after she disappeared...as shallow as she sometimes could be, Miho truly loved her parents and her friends.

As for the fate of Mr. and Mrs. N...well...

Mr. and Mrs. N made a multitude of public appearances after the discovery of the lunchbox, extolling the public to come forth with any and all information, however irrelevant it may seem, for the investigation. They funded rewards, expeditions, even television ads, all to no avail save a few curious calls that we will get to shortly. Little by little public interest waned and Mrs. N, who probably had a fighting chance of beating her illness, slowly shrunk into despair and, within a year, passed away of what many believed to a broken heart.

Mr. N disappeared from the public eye soon thereafter, also of a broken heart. He keeps in touch with Anzu and I occasionally from obscurity, calling us Miho's sisters and his adopted daughters. Out of respect for the memory of Mrs. N, who was like a mother to me, I will not be interviewing Mr. N. I don't think the tears will hold and, besides, the journalist in me wants this account to be as objective as possible (yes, I still want that even with my connection to the victim and her family, which I freely disclose for your analysis).

I can assure you Mr. N was and still is genuinely devastated by the events of ten years ago. In my opinion, Mr. N never forgave himself for putting his work ahead of his wife and daughter. He tells me as much and, frankly, I haven't the heart to tell him that it may have been his work that caused Miho's to vanish like a grain of sand into the vast ocean of the unknown.

It's here now that I pause and think about whether this pattern truly fits the circumstances. It is a constant question of "Does this fit?" Sure, Mr. and Mrs. N's work benefited many, but there were many who would have benefited from possessing leverage on either their corporation or their family. Or possibly one of their many more mysterious employers who would have been severely harmed had said knowledge been released.

There are rumors Mr. and Mrs. N quit their work in order to comply to certain demands from the parties responsible. It's possible this is the case, though the truth of the matter is hard to ascertain at this point. Officially the Nosaka Corporation disbanded due to Mrs. N's illness. All assets and technological development were absorbed by Kaiba Corporation which, as we all know, was and still is run by a certain arrogant CEO who happened (by fate? design?) to be in Miho's class at Domino High.

Here again we have the problem of patterns. Is it truly coincidental that the Nosaka technology was absorbed by Kaiba Corps, of all the reputable companies who could have continued their intellectual legacy? Was it an orchestrated attempt by a brilliant and ruthless child genius? Seto Kaiba himself cuts a mysterious and somewhat foreboding figure. His history of kidnapping (officially the term is "extending an invitation to duel," but you and I need not share in that foolishness. Let's just call a spade a spade, shall we?) a certain elderly gentleman who possessed a blue eyes white dragon does not bode well. Ruthlessness is the Kaiba way for business; certainly no one would be surprised if Kaiba himself had been behind the whole deal.

Surprisingly, however, the only person save Mokuba Kaiba (whom we will acknowledge possesses a different perspective of his older brother than most) to defend Seto was Yuugi. Shy, sweet Yuugi proclaimed that Kaiba- despite all appearances to the contrary- really had changed since the kidnapping incident and is now a law-abiding citizen, albeit one worth about a gazillion dollars more than the entire Domino High graduating class.

Having interviewed him for unrelated assignments prior to this, all I can say is that Seto possessses the intellect to plan and execute something as simple as a fake kidnapping. Simple in the sense that Seto's brain is coldly logical. Lining up the chess pieces just so would have been as easy as breathing for him.

Though, if I could interject here, possession of genius does not necessarily imply abandonment of morals. I was a somewhat brilliant child- though obviously not on Seto's level by any stretch of the imagination- but as far as I can tell you my brain didn't birth any homicidal urges a la Dostoyevsky. In fact, I feel somewhat hindered- at least socially- by the fact that I can quote _Crime and Punishment _with ease and yet not know what to do when it comes to confessing my feelings for Jou. Though then again, that may be a case of divine protection against childhood stupidity. Brilliance, then, does not imply psychopathy, just a certain amount of social awkwardness, at least in my case and perhaps Kaiba's as well.

Anyways, as for whether Kaiba would actually_ do_ something heinous to Miho with his obviously genius mind, public opinion was (and remains) against him. Many of the Nosaka holdings were later developed into highly lucrative Kaiba Corps products including some highly sensitive material that my sources tell me shook the very foundation of computer design. A good majority of Kaiba's wealth is built on the back of Nosaka genius which, as pretty much everyone assumed at the time, painted a very clear picture of his guilt.

The fact remains, however, that despite the apparent pattern of circumstances leading back to him, real evidence is scarce. A forensic sweep of Kaiba Corps and Kaiba's personal mansion yield nothing more than a litany of ongoing lawsuits. However, this doesn't definitively rule out Kaiba's involvement. When it comes to that level of influence and power, making evidence disappear is not exactly the most difficult challenge in the world. Whatever the basis for Yuugi's continued belief, Seto's reputation for obliterating the competition precedes him even now. (Here again we must commend Yuugi for his kindness. He was among the rare minority who defended a very unsympathetic suspect.)

The problem with pinning the blame on Kaiba is the following: if all he was after was the Nosaka technology, then why not return Miho once the company was his? Ruthless business practice is one thing. Graduating from boardroom brutality to actual brutality is quite a step, even for someone like Kaiba who, if we remember, has a brother who has been the subject of multiple Kaiba Corps related kidnappings. The nagging comeback to this theory is that perhaps one of Kaiba's underlings attempted (and failed) this ploy spectacularly in an attempt to curry favor or execute a coup. Or perhaps Miho herself planned the entire charade as an elaborate plan to obtain revenge on her parents. The thought has crossed my mind but, as anyone who knew Miho will tell you, she does not appear to be the calculating type, at least not when it comes to financial matters like mergers and acquisitions and the like, but Miho is also quite smart, too...

All in all, Kaiba is a compelling suspect if one lines the facts up just so in this pattern. But he isn't the only one and we will visit the others in due time. Perhaps another set will line up even better for all of you. It's a tangled web in which not even I have all the answers- just ends and beginnings of strings that may or may not be connected.

Until next time, my curious readers.

* * *

**Thoughts? Keep going? I'm curious to see who you guys think the culprit is at this point.**


	3. Impressions

**Disclaimer**: I do not own YGO Season 0 characters, just this little plot twist that struck my fancy.

* * *

**Entry #3**

Impressions are like stars, scattered across the night sky- twinkling, shimmering, and blindingly far. One only needs to squint to see the myriad of shapes gleaned from a single night. If we blink, each image strikes us slightly different than the last one. Each picture subtly changing in outline and form. Every snapshot a sibling of another. The light melts into the darkness with every glance in a way that we the viewers- despite our continuous blinks- never really ascertain the reality of the truth, only an impression of which that is forever inked upon our memories.

Such are our impressions of those we know. Many images scattered through our acquaintance. Some enhance our understanding of their person. Pictures of what drives them, hurts them, cheers them. Others are snapshots blur the boundaries before what we know to be a part of who they are- coloring the lines and forms of who we thought they were. Every snapshot a sibling of another. All of our impressions melt together into a mixing pot of nuances that paint the outline of who we think someone to be.

In this way, exploring Seto Kaiba's guilt or innocence presents an interesting study in impressions, how they can change, and the person making them.

I have written before that I have interviewed him for other assignments prior to this one. The truth is, I know Seto and the majority of suspects in Miho's disappearance quite well. Seto better than most (we will get to how well in a moment), but, in reality, my knowledge of them is constructed of piecemeal moments and memories- a melange of unrelated pieces that dazzle while they confuse. Who is to say that the impressions I have of them are accurate reflections of their person? Is it possible to know someone else as well as we think we do?

I have not communicated with of the majority suspects interviewed in the entries that follow since our time at Domino High. We drifted apart after graduation. Anzu went to America to dance; Yuugi followed; they're now engaged. Surprisingly, Jou and Honda both went to college; unsurprisingly, they're both still single, though I have a sneaking suspicion that Shizuka aims to change that status with Honda. Bakura went to Egypt and stayed for many years; something about honoring a memory or a commitment or- if you were less charitable- escaping to a country with no extradition treaties.

Depending on your perspective, my relative lack of contact with everyone has both pros and a cons. The pros being, of course, my memories of them are from the time period in question and thus most relevant to the investigation. Who I remember everyone to be is who they were ten years ago at the cusp of adulthood. Said images are not corrupted by the inevitable changes of character and disposition during the intervening time. I present them to you as my teenage brain saw them, flaws and all. The cons being that I am no longer that teenage girl writing about her impressions of what used to be. I have grown in the last ten years, so your impression of me is stamped from a different era of my life than my recollections of the people I once knew.

I have kept in touch with Anzu and, by extension, Yuugi throughout their time in America, but with everyone else, I present them the lens is the eyes of a child remembering a more innocent time in her life. My impressions of light before the azure sky crashed into darkness, if you will. (Miho always liked poetry; I can see almost see her smile at those particular images. Some days I almost expect her to magically appear at my window and laugh at the amount of time I've spent analyzing the suspects in this case.)

Nostalgia aside, the sole exception to the familiarity conundrum is Seto, whom I have come to know quite well in the years since graduation, even better than I let on in my last entry. We became acquainted through my previous assignments for the Business section of the Domino Herald, the organization sponsoring this serialized column. I started my career- as many young journalists do- floating from section to section, story to story until I worked my way to the Crime page as an investigative reporter. Seto, as the young fountainhead of quite possibly the most successful technological company after the dismemberment of Nosaka Corps was frequently the subject of my first published pieces.

My first post-graduation impression of Seto was not a positive one. If you had asked me then if Seto was capable of arranging a kidnap and ransom scheme to take over another company, especially one as valuable as Nosaka Corps, I would have unhesitatingly answered yes, he was. He would have accomplished it between bites of croissant and coffee without a trace of hesitation. Hell, he could probably accomplish such a task whilst _sleepwalking and not even blink._

Which brings me to something that will change your impression of me: namely, I am writing about my fiancee as if he weren't my fiancee. As in, my impression of Seto changed quite dramatically, the details of which are boring and private. Suffice it to say that impressions of others can and do change, especially where the heart is concerned. That is not to say I don't have my moments of doubt. After all, there is a reason I started the investigation close to home, if not from a sense of duty than from a sense of obligation to the Nosakas.

As you see from my unforgiving analysis of my fiancee in the last entry, the end result is that for the purposes of this investigation, I treat him like I treat all of the other suspects in this case- with caution, skepticism, and a brutal sense of objectivity. As a potential kidnapper. Possibly worse than that. Or perhaps another innocent victim of a bigger conspiracy. The truth is still very much unclear, but my journalist's eye is trained upon it despite my personal affiliations. I delve as deeply (or even more deeply, since I know him so well) into Seto's motivations as I do all of the other suspects on my list.

Undoubtedly, this is where you question whether I'm the best person to investigate Miho's disappearance given my close association with at least one of the lead suspects. Allow me to add to those concerns about my objectivity: depending on who you ask, my friendship with Anzu (the other owner of the partial fingerprint found on Miho's belongings), Yuugi (the other owner of the temporary blackouts and mysterious ancient item), Honda (of the unrequited crush), and Jou (of the oafish variety). All of them can and were considered suspects at one point or another during the investigation. Hell, even I was a suspect, however briefly, and I'm still doggedly pursuing this investigation.

This is also where I assure you on no uncertain terms that my loyalties lie with Miho, her family, and journalistic integrity. I freely disclose that I was once a suspect, and I have paid for that cloud of suspicion even before penning a single word. Prior to embarking on this assignment with my editors, even. According to them, that slight suggestion that I may have been the one responsible for Miho's disappearance renders my investigation moot and the credibility of our newspaper suspect.

To that I make the obvious counterargument: if I were truly responsible for what happened to Miho, why in the world would I want to head an investigation into what is surely a matter best left _not_ investigated by anyone, let alone me, the responsible party? Why would I not leave this cold case with preciously little evidence and no viable suspects to gather dust in the filing room while I move on with my life unmarred by the consequences of my actions? How stupid would I have to be in order to drag so much public attention to a case that everyone save a select few has unfortunately forgotten? It doesn't seem logical that I would run the rather large risk of exposing myself as the criminal mastermind, does it? Would I be so foolish as to test fate so blatantly by thinking I am smarter than the best public and private investigators the world has to offer? Why would I- or any reasonable person with an ounce of sense- not leave the matter be if they were truly guilty?

The truth is I _fought_ hard against my editors and their bosses and the public for the privilege investigating Miho's disappearance because I _care_. She and Anzu were like the sisters I never had. Much like they were to Yuugi, they were kind to me when no one else was. I was an orphan misfit who couldn't talk to boys if their shirts were on fire (quite literally, because I've always been teased about a certain incident best left unmentioned). Miho couldn't have cared less and practically forced Mr. and Mrs. N adopted me as their second daughter. All three of them welcomed me into their family with open arms and wallets (orphans, as you know, are not all of the Seto Kaiba variety, and it was Nosaka money that funded my journalistic endeavors). Even after Miho's disappearance, Mr. and Mrs. N continued to fund my education and support my career as if I were their own.

So, _why_, dear reader, would I not count my loyalty to the Miho and the Nosakas above my loyalty to everyone else, Seto included?

I'll admit I love Seto more than life, but I love Mr. N and the memory of Mrs. N more. They are to me what my parents would have been. I fought hard to resurrect this project from obscurity to give Mr. N a proper answer about what happened to Miho. I must repay my debt to the Nosakas somehow, especially now that the last of them has fallen ill.

I am investigating because I _must_ know the truth about Seto, too. I don't believe for a second that the man I know now could have been the one responsible, but I cannot in good faith promise to love and cherish him for the rest of my life without answering the question of whether the person I once knew was responsible. I have interviewed enough horrified spouses who discovered their soul mate was a kidnapper (and worse) with a casual disregard for the lives of others to know I do not want to be one of them. I cannot in good conscience ask Mr. N to welcome as a son-in-law the prime suspect in his daughter's disappearance without at least providing him a reasonable case for said son-in-law's innocence.

That does not stop me from feeling conflicted about keeping this investigation under the radar, away from Seto's prying eyes. It would break his heart to know that I suspect him after the changes he's made to prove himself an innocent and better man. Is it truly better for him to believe I'm investigating the curious disappearance of six other teenage girls throughout Japan instead of evidence of his guilt? What will he think when he finds out I doubt him still? Will he revise his obviously positive impressions of me?

I don't know the answer to those questions, but I have told Seto I am investigating a serial kidnapping group active before and after Miho's disappearance. A half-truth, because it's somewhat likely or at least possible that Miho was the seventh victim...

Truthfully, I wonder if that wouldn't be the better answer for all of us: the solution that some third party was involved. I know all of the suspects in Miho's case. I've talked to them covertly and openly and they are all like Seto- familiar faces, friends, and colleagues. If Miho's case was to the serial kidnappings, then it would be a relatively easy task to shut the book and tell myself my impressions of the people I think I know so well are accurate and genuine...as opposed to the frankly horrifying alternative of them being _inaccurate and false_

I wish now that it was possible to interview the group responsible for the serial kidnappings. Unfortunately, their leader was mortally wounded in an altercation the day after his imprisonment. Even in a society behind bars there is order; hurting children barely old enough to purchase groceries evidently falls outside of those lines. Their standards for justice are quite harsh, but I cannot say that I disapprove with any sincerity. There is crime and there is punishment. One begets the other. Whether the punishment fits the crime is a different question. My sole purpose is to uncover the truth so justice can be meted out fairly and swiftly.

The group of professional kidnappers disbanded after their leader was forcibly deposed. They were rounded up by investigators one by one. When interviewed, each placed the blame quite conveniently on their leader, who, as you'll remember, could not defend himself against what could very well be exaggerated attributions of criminal genius by his underlings. Their modus operandi is quite simple: lure someone like Miho with promises of pastries, cosmetics, or other goods, take them to a separate location, arrange for ransom, and then exchange for money. Quite a lucrative trade, if one discounts the pain and suffering of others.

Making the disappearance permanent is not part of their strategy, at least no according to the (surviving, as some as have passed quite violently) members I've interviewed, though I take their word with some skepticism. No one I've talked to admits to knowing anything about Miho or even knowing about her connection to the Nosaka Corps' endless supply of technical know-how, but, again, that denial does not mean very much. For people whose lifetimes are already committed to the confines of a small cell, telling the truth in exchange for more punishment is quite obviously a foolish trade.

The thornier question is who hired them if they were responsible. Their leader, though a planner, is not one to move without direction from a well-moneyed sponsor. The investigators looked first at Mr. and Mrs. N, who had both the means and motive. For whatever reason, they insured the lives of their progeny and quasi-adopted progeny (yes, they me too, though I had no idea of this at the time) for an almost unheard of amount even for people of their net worth. They explained it as having an extra sense of peace of mind, especially for Miho, who liked to pretend to be normal by taking jobs at Burger World and the like...even though she could clearly afford not to. The investigators seemed convinced by the fact that Mr. and Mrs. N also insured themselves for an even more unheard of amount, for which Miho (and later me) was the sole beneficiary. A strange arrangement, to be sure, yet not one that would raise my eyebrows in Miho's case as the insurance claim is in the event of - for lack of a more delicate term- verifiable permanency of disappearance, for which Miho's case does not yet qualify.

If we take the financial motive out of the question, there remains the problematic possibility that someone like Seto could have hired those goons. Although, having met some of them, I can guarantee you that even someone of my comparably limited teenager intellect would _not_ have picked them to accomplish such a delicate task. Even then I would not have picked people who were so obvious and predicable in their every move (hence why they were eventually all rounded up). Perhaps if I were truly desperate and had the means to do so I would have picked that group as a last resort, but I imagine it's unlikely that Seto would have picked such...crude instruments given his unlimited means. His style is more the under the radar, ninja type who would be impossible for someone like me to track down, not the in your face, get-caught type. An assessment that does not clear him of suspicion, unfortunately, but not one that pins the guilt directly on him, either.

What I'm getting at is that, in my impressions, Seto is a good man. If he is responsible, it is unlikely he used the above method. Or perhaps my impression of who he is now blinds me to the fact that who he was would have resorted to those fools. (I can almost see the half-smirk on his face upon uttering that word). There is no way to know, objectively, which impression of him is more accurate without the impossible task of reviving someone who is no longer with us to interrogate him about his employer _if_ his group would even admit responsibility (the difficulties of which we have already discussed). Such is the challenge of relying on my memory and emotions, though I do try to school them with objectivity as much as I can.

In the end, all I can be sure of when it comes to my heart is that I love Miho and her family very much. My search is one for the truth of the matter regardless of who it implicates- me, Anzu, Miho's parents, and even Seto, the person I adore most. My impressions of the case are as they are and I freely disclose my association with all the suspects so you may, on your own, form your impressions as well.

Until next time, then.

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Coming up next: Bakura and the next chapter of _Trials_.


	4. Duplicity

**Disclaimer**: I do not own YGO.

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**Entry #4**

Duplicity.

A strange, fantastical, yet utterly human trait we all possess. As the saying goes, some in spades and some in hearts.

Mostly in hearts, as I've learned in my work. To live is to lie. To trust is to believe. So I've been told by countless criminals. Their families, too. The people who knew them. Still know them. All living in a swirl of duplicity, trapped by deceit until not even they knew the difference between truth and deceit.

I wonder sometimes if I am any different; if we are all any different than the people we pity for lying all the time to others and themselves.

Sure, I've certainly lied plenty in my time, but they're mostly innocent white lies...like the lines that I feed Seto about how much I'm obviously _not_ bothered by the crime scene photos scattered across my desk. The truth is I find each image sadder than the last, but would it really help Seto to know that? And so I lie and tell him I'm not as sad as I used to be. It's wrong, I know, but I do it anyway for the worry in his eyes. I tell myself it's best for both of us if he doesn't worry about my line of work. He receives enough threats as it is; there is no need to add my troubles, too.

Scattered across my desk are my latest acquisitions- pictures of the places where the missing girls were last seen. Six sets of depressingly lonely pictures in varying shades of blood. A small red shoe found by an empty swing. One half of a pair of earrings hanging from the monkey bars. A family of burgundy threads tangled upon the obstacle course. A reunion of rusty buttons scattered throughout the sand box. One measly oxblood ribbon fluttering on a schoolyard fence. A rush of carmine laces catch between the door latch. Six sets of pictures. Heartbreak captured in celluloid, suspended forever in time by the magic of technology. Scenes from six locations around Japan, all within a fifteen mile radius of Domino.

The media dubbed it the Red Files. A nod to a popular American science fiction fandom, as I later learned in the hallowed, Ivy-lined halls of a certain prestigious institution whose very name changes the nature of a person. (Another one of Mr. N's ideas, not mine. Seto supported him. One of the only things they agreed on given their rocky history.) It was there I learned about our insatiable quest for truth, under those waxy green leaves that housed mysteries beyond mysteries. Ever since it's been a never ending search for answers that led me halfway around the world and back to my hometown again, poring over photos with a microscope for any clues I may have missed the last fifty times I repeated the exercise.

And so I lie to Seto and myself. I tell him I'm not bothered by the sheer audacity of human deception because I'll eventually find the answer and the effort will be worth the enlightenment. I tell myself that if I look hard enough, I will find something that I missed the first, second, and third times. But will I ever find what I'm looking for? What if I never do? Can I still live with myself if I don't find at least a reasonable lie to tell Mr. N before he passes?

(I tell myself that we will all find the peace we seek, but is that truly the case? I hope so, but is that another deception?)

Whatever our perspective, to live is to lie, at least a little bit, to ourselves and to others. We believe because it smooths the bumps in our lives. We lie: the same words, twisted differently, to comfort and hurt as we see fit. A sorry circumstance; a telling indicator of the state of the world we live in.

My job as an investigative journalist is to unravel the duplicity of others. I watch every suspect carefully for tell-tale markers of falsehood. A clearing of the throat. An extra blink of errant eyelashes. Almost imperceptible changes of pulse. All tiny physical signs that the person before me actively seeks to deceive in the name of truth. It requires a certain finesse of mien. A poker face to rival Yuugi's (who, as of this writing, as already been banned from every casino this side of the moon for that very reason), who taught me everything he knew and then some so I can do the job properly.

After years of training with the best, I've developed an unparalleled ability to lie to people whose lives are built on the intentional deceit of others- of their true character, motives, and morality. Scarily, I've also developed the ability to deceive them in order to find the truth.

A funny circumstance, wouldn't you say? Someone who detects duplicity for a living must also, in a way, live duplicitously in order to lull suspects into comfort. Familiarity, even. I've played many roles during my investigations. Stranger. Friend. Love interest (never lover because as unscrupulous as I can be, I'm not completely devoid of morals when Seto is concerned). Rival. Long-lost sibling from America (as soap opera-esque as that seems, I find it easier to lie as little as possible). Sometimes I find myself not certain of who I'm playing at the moment, causing some hilarious/dangerous moments. Short of using studied drops of the Kaiba name to access otherwise impenetrable places for the common person, I'm a liar and a damn good one in the pursuit of truth. Justice, too, however it may be dispensed...

Which is how I found myself in the prison visiting block, sitting across a bare metallic table, playing card games with someone I used to go to school with. Astute followers of the case remember Ushio as the class bully with terrifying eyebrows. I remember him as the bully who tormented the five of us endlessly with increasingly cruel tricks. There were the times he "helped" Yuugi by beating Jou and Honda into human smoothies. There were the times he "helped" Anzu, Miho, and I by divesting us of our gym clothes. You know the type, a creep through and through...

It wasn't shocking to find him jailed in connection to the Red Files. Everyone I know from the Domino High School days expected something like this. Ushio is the type to swindle and squander a profit from the misery of others. Just desserts, as they say.

Nonetheless, it's nearly impossible to obtain confession through straightforward accusation. More duplicitous methods are required. This time I'm a biographer writing about Ushio's life story (again, it makes keeping the pretense easier). Hence the casual card game with someone I normally would avoid like fangirls at Seto's press conferences. You'd think I personally masterminded the Red Files by the daggers they throw my way. Or worse, engaged in some sort of supernatural mumbo jumbo to entrap him when, in reality, Seto's immune to pretty much everything that doesn't fit into his neat little box of logic. You don't really expect me fool one of the best minds of my generation with such cheap tricks, right?

Ushio talks as he deals the cards. He's a shark. I know it because Yuugi already told me as much, but I don't let on to the fact he's cheating by keeping cards in his massively oversized jumpsuit. I let him think he's winning so he talks more. Spades and hearts fly. Clubs land near my fingers (the cards, thankfully, not actual clubs, because I have a feeling Seto would separate tendons if I were to suffer any bodily harm, though I tell him repeatedly that I'm quite well-versed in karate, thanks in no small part to what happened to Miho).

Nonetheless, I smile at Ushio's eyebrows when I try not to vomit on the table, which, as you can imagine, is a frequent occurrence.

He recounts his story with alarming numbness. How he and his associates lured unsuspecting marks with promises of grandeur. Then hid then in crates by the pier as their grieving relatives sold and borrowed. An altogether disgusting display of avarice. The worst part is that he doesn't acknowledge any responsibility for planning or executing the scheme. He merely claims he and his associates were blackmailed into "borrowing" others by a mysterious figure with long white hair and possibly a British accent.

_Yep._

You read that right. He went for the imaginary person (with a generic description, no less!) made me do it defense.

Before you roll your eyes, let me say that I had the same exact reaction. Internally, of course, as to not arouse suspicion. But the same reaction nonetheless. Of all the excuses to sprout, that is the cleverest and most pointless from an investigative point of view. Who is to say there is no such person? Who would question the fragments of a half-formed memory? There's no one worth interviewing to confirm or deny the story.

Once I swallowed the urge to contact some of my less savory associates to...do away, as the American say, with him, I probe him for details about this mysterious figure.

The only answers I receive as half-nods. Plus requests to bring him more cards. Evidently the other inmates enjoy playing them. Always one to make a business deal, Ushio. Prison did very little to dull his appetite for money. And so I give him everything he asks for. Plus some unsavory and shocking magazines best left unmentioned in polite company.

I get a name in return: Bakura.

As in, Ryou Bakura, whose house, if you remember, was located quite closely to where Miho's orange lunchbox was found. Proud (?) owner of one of those cursed golden objects that inspire campy movies about phenomenon that have perfectly reasonable scientific explanations, at least to me. Ushio claims he met Bakura one day after school to "discuss" his bodyguard services. You know as well as I do that's code for extortion, but evidently Bakura was able to turn the tables on Ushio by some combination of psychological warfare and magic (Ushio's words, not mine).

Clearly Bakura is not the right person to ask about that mysterious phenomenon. I can't even find him other than whispers of his involvement in certain Egyptian affairs best left unexplored by people like you and me, assuming you believe in gravity and science and not hocus pocus.

There is some possibility Ushio is telling an exaggerated version of the truth, so I asked Yuugi, the next and only source I know. He smiled and changed the subject. For someone who claims to be completely guileless, Yuugi is at times abnormally wise. Eerily so, in fact, even as a teenager. Anzu hints it has something to do with that mysterious pendant he used to wear; Seto hints it has something to do with hallucinations. (Typical Seto, right?)

Personally, I'm not as fast as Seto is to dismiss the role of the supernatural in human affairs, but I find it hard to believe that inanimate objects have the power to compel others to abdicate their morals, if such objects even existed outside of Ushio's imagination. At the very least there ought to be some sort of underlying ethical disparity. Having known Ushio longer than any sane person wishes to, I wouldn't be surprised if he succumbed to the suggestion that something evil was guiding his actions when in reality the evil lived withinhim. Flourished, even, judging by his long rap sheet. Too long a list compared to his cellmates, all of whom give him a wide berth for that very reason. Apparently Ushio's bodyguard servies are in high demand at the prison...

Interestingly, Ushio denies having any connection to Miho, for however little that's worth. He claims responsibility for perpetrating at least one of the Red Files, but he adamantly refuses to claim his association with the persons responsible for Miho's disappearance. He says the leader was actually someone quite close to Bakura, an old gym teacher named Karita or Kamira. (I wouldn't know; like Miho, I'm quite happy cheering from the sidelines given my obvious lack of athletic talent). Convenient enough for Ushio that said gym teacher and Bakura are both nowhere to be found for further questioning.

Ushio's proof of innocence?

He's afraid of Yuugi.

Or, more specifically, what Yuugi would do to him if he harmed one of his friends.

As if that would ever happen, you say?

We're back to the shadow magic again. During our high school days, there was a strange incident involving a midnight meeting, a knife, and cash that ended with Ushio spending several weeks in the country to recuperate. He's always blamed Yuugi (perhaps wrongly) for whatever it was that caused him to see everything as money.

Here I wonder if Ushio is lying to himself. It's quite easy to blame our faults on the actions of others. It's not as if Yuugi or Bakura have the build to beat Ushio to a pulp; quite the opposite happened on a daily basis throughout high school. More than one student has complained to me about Ushio's greed since I began my biography of him. It's far more likely that Ushio simply stopped pretending to be sane and pinned the blame on poor, unsuspecting Yuugi.

But does it really count as duplicity if Ushio believes his lies to be true? He seems genuinely convinced that Yuugi and Bakura possess some sort of supernatural power than enabled them to manipulate reality. I wouldn't know about Bakura, but I'm certain that if Yuugi had any magical powers, he would have used it to bring back Miho by now. Or at least clue us in on what happened. That would be more in line with the Yuugi I know and the man Anzu fell in love with so long ago.

After investigating Ushio, I've ceased to be amazed by the lengths to which we will go to deceive ourselves and others. Too many years witnessing the cruelty of others. Too many stories of money driving him, his associates, and countless others...

I would be remiss if I didn't at least mention that Mr. and Mrs. N received crates of ransom notes back in the day. Mr. N no longer receives them since he's moved to a remote location, but I imagine if he were still living in Domino the situation would be the same. I receive them now, but I hand the majority of them over to the police. They're mostly fictions I can spot before opening the envelope (too much practice, I'm afraid), but I keep a few of the interesting looking ones for further investigation.

Nothing has ever been paid by the Nosakas or me, but that doesn't stop people from trying to profit off their pain.

Profit.

Such a dirty term. If we mean profit solely in the sense of benefiting from, then, here I should point out that I, too, benefited, through gaining a family in the Nosakas- officially- after Miho's disappearance. Whether I actually wanted to obtain the benefit through the misfortune of another is a separate matter.

But greed is a funny thing, isn't it? I haven't wanted much in life and now I have all most people could ever want- a loving fiancee, a fantastic job, and a welcoming family. All things I had (save the fiancee- but let's discount that as a benchmark for teenage goals) when Miho disappeared. The Nosakas have loved me like I was their own. First Mr. and Mrs. N, now both Kaibas (Seto and Mokuba, who has matured quite a bit since those early days, thank goodness). They're my family now; my life and my everything.

For someone who wanted only family as a child, I've more than lived my dreams. Twice now. More than enough for a girl who thought dreams didn't actually come true.

We will continue our exploration of what is left of my first family next time.

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Leave me a review?

Someone suggested I drop more hints about the true culprit. Here's an anagram: TARMAC. Feel free to PM if you think you've solved it. Two sets of initials are involved. :)

The next chapter of _Trials_ is under construction.


	5. Evil

Cereal- Evil

Disclaimer: I do not own YGO. Apologies this chapter took so long.

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Seto and I often argue about my work, much more so than about his work because I deal with evil people every day. This threat assessment comes from the guy who believes a five person team of ex-military personnel guarding every door and window is a minimum security plan, a ten layer security vault with biometric protection is basic protection, and twenty background checks and personality plus psychological interviews for all employees is grossly insufficient.

If you ask me, Seto takes the personal security thing a little too seriously, justifiably so at times and excessively at others. If you're one of the richest and brightest innovators of our time, you might be a little obsessive, too, for the sole reason that people see only dollar signs when they should be seeing you. Greed is a powerful motivator and poor Seto has learned that over and over again.

According to him, we're all evil in our basic nature and we just all do a really good job of masking it. He really likes to pontificate upon that, as if I've forgotten all about the ninety-three times that someone has tried to kidnap me to get to him and the twenty-seven times I've _actually_ been kidnapped for work-related reasons. While I see his point, I don't lump all of the threats against us the catch-all category of "people are evil." There are gradients of evil just as there are gradients of good. Seto, unfortunately, tends to attract people with evil intentions, which makes him a little too jaded about human nature.

Unlike him, I tend to think people are naturally good. Some of us do evil things, but not all of us are inherently evil. The cruel things we do are manifestation of ill-founded temptation, powerful enough to compel some of us to trespass moral boundaries for personal gain. Not all of us are so dismissive of ethics; for the most part, we happen to be decent, law-abiding people who care about the welfare of others. The rare few (Ushio et. al) are missing that particular talent for reasons I can't fathom. But I'm fairly certain they're the exception and not the rule, otherwise we would be much busier at office than we actually are...or there isn't any justice in the world, which I find hard to believe.

So after an extended debate, I've finally convinced Seto to relax our security protocols last night for the first time in...well...ever...so we can breathe without a twenty person security team around the perimeter. With high profile jobs like ours, there is an inherent danger to simply _existing_, security presence or not. All the more reason for us to live as normally as possible, not always looking over our shoulders worrying about the next threat, right? That's not to say I want to live recklessly, just that I don't want to always live in so much fear of what might happen that I forget about what _is_ happening.

Sometimes I wish Seto and I were just normal, everyday people with regular, boring jobs and a pet- maybe a disdainful cat or an overenthusiastic dog or a bunch of goldfish. That would be much easier on Mokie. He's still growing into the person he wants to be and it's hard to trust people and develop friendships with Seto's obsessive security protocols. Imagine not having the opportunity to do normal teenage boy things like going bowling with friends without the extras from some real life action movie following two paces behind...

Ever since I flat out refused to entertain the idea of a constant security detail at work (how in the world am I supposed to investigate with ten suits in sunglasses watching my every move?!), Seto has been more obsessive than usual about security. His compromise for not sending a team to the office with me? Comprehensive backgrounds on everyone I work with, plus everyone I investigate. Thank you, honey, for giving me more information than I ever wanted to know about Ushio's fear of abandonment and spiders. That's really more than I wanted know about one of the foulest human beings I've ever met, which is saying something considering my most recent assignments were a serial murderer of children under 3 and a political dictator accused of crimes against humanity.

Anyways, Seto isn't wrong to go to such extremes to protect us. He attracts interesting people (he prefers "evil," but again, I don't believe people are as simple as that), most recently a Risa something-or-the-other, who has a tendency to "divine" his location and show up unannounced. Seto doesn't talk much about Risa, except to say that she once tried to "ensnare" Yuugi too. She and her sisters specialize in the occult, not that it explains why she keeps trying to "save" him from my evil.

If I wasn't a rational person, I'd think there may be some truth to supernatural hocus pocus. Then again, I have no idea where Risa found our address or my (alleged) insanity. Either way, being accused of secretly harboring an evil alter ego doesn't faze me. I've been called worse by more dangerous people (see recent assignments, above). If I let everyone with an opinion affect my faith in humanity, I would out a job, a fiancé, and all of my lofty ideals about truth and justice.

In any case, Seto figured out pretty quickly that I'm interested in him as a person, not his fortune or the Kaiba empire. He could be another penniless orphan like me and I would still love him. Having grown up without either his fortune or fame, I'm quite content without either.

For the record, I work and live under my real last name, too. I chose not to capitalize upon the Nosaka or Kaiba name to get ahead because I'd like to make it on my own merits. Character isn't about who you know or what you can buy. It's about who you _are. _The extras don't matter to me. I'm more interested in the intellectual stimulation.

Speaking of my job, Seto has spent an inordinate amount of time trying to talk me into taking an early retirement. Said monologues usually involve a corporate-style presentation about the dangers of investigative journalism, the global reach of the Kaiba name, and proposals for alternative career paths. Or, better yet, _hobbies_ that would keep me on the grounds, under the eyelids of the Kaiba Security team. Something like knitting action figures or planting trees, for example, or making treats for Mokuba's school bake sales.

_Hobbies_.

My response is always the same. I sigh, remind myself that Seto means well, and resist the urge to roll my eyes.

"Honey, we've been over this already. I can't keep anything _alive_, and, besides, I happen to _like_ my job, which I'm really good at. Please stop worrying. You're making me paranoid."

His apparent acquiescence doesn't fool me. He knows when to press his luck and when to regroup for a later attempt. With him, it's always a brief period of silence while the research department plans another one of his famous KAIBA, INC. speeches with FACTS so he could spring it upon me at the next available opportunity.

Last night, though, he finally relented enough to and lighten up security at the home offices without only two hours of monologuing- a new record. I spent it reorganizing the previous entries into somewhat legible records and he spent it on whatever new product they're developing at the moment. Finally, I think to myself, a somewhat normal night, peaceful and quiet with no outside threats or interruptions, just us working side by side with a pot of coffee in the middle.

_Of_ _course_ the peace doesn't last.

It started at breakfast this morning when Seto decided to "surprise" me with the latest Domino Herald over coffee and toast.

"Mayumi?" _Hmm_. Using my name instead of an endearment. He must be in a curious mood, which means either the research department found some fascinating new facts or something has happened, which would be surprising given his not-really-lightened-but-lightened-enough-for-Mayumi security protocol of five guards at every window.

"Umm-hmm? I burrow into a well-worn copy of Dosteovsky, hoping to buy a few more minutes for Mokie to join us at the table and change the subject.

He smirks when he notices my eyes straying to Mokie's chair. "Nice try, Mayumi, but Mokie's already at school with half of the security team."

I look up. Now that's just _weird_. Normally it's only a third of the team, with the other two-thirds divided between us. _Great_. He's decided to double down. I _knew_ the peace was too good to last.

Sure enough, the smirk disappears, replaced by the Seto Kaiba Classic stern with a touch of angry expression. "Did you know that Ushio escaped from maximum security late last night?"

Here it goes...

I nod meekly. Of course I _know_. Impossible _not_ to know when said convict's mugshot is printed on the front page of the paper you work for, with your name on the byline, in the very same paper that your fiancé is now cradling like one of his newest technological prototypes. "The office woke me up at 3 a.m. to write that, remember?" I yawn, hoping he would drop it.

No such luck. Seto is like me with a lead when he finds a piece of evidence that supports his theory, which unfortunately for me is every time something like this happens. "Well?" There's an edge to his voice.

I sigh. Not this _**again**_. He really should go into investigative journalism if the CEO thing doesn't work out. "Honey, you've already doubled our security since I started the Red Files investigations, remember? I know you're worried, but it's a cold case and we have to _live_, too. And not in some constant fear-addled state. See? I wrote three whole paragraphs above the fold on the task force on Ushio? Right here." I jab my fingers at a photograph of its well-decorated members. "They're trained in the latest military tactics. Could we just relax and live a little, please?"

Apparently that's the wrong thing to say. Seto doesn't look appeased at all. If anything, he looks angry, blotchy and red with what looks like wisps of smoke pouring from his ears. "Does your little task force know about our break-in this morning, too, or do you want to not _live_ until tomorrow to find out?"

_Ooooooook_. That was definitely the wrong thing to say. Wait. Break-in? I spill coffee all over Dosteovsky. "Is everyone ok? What was stolen?"

"Everyone's fine. Your notes about Miho are gone. I managed to recover your hard drive, though."

I sprint towards our shared home office where, sure enough, my polka-dot crate of interesting looking letter, suspect sketches, and case interviews is _gone_. The only evidence that it ever existed was a small dent in the carpet, along with the shredded remains of Mr. N's address. The backup files on my computer has been drowned in the leftover pot of coffee. The hard drive is completely fried, all data gone, unless, of course, you're me and Seto is your fiancé.

Now, the upside to being engaged to a technological genius is that lost data is always salvageable. What isn't always salvageable is the state of your relationship, once your fiancee forgives you for, _you_ _know_, suspecting him of kidnap and murder, the gross invasion of your privacy by sorting through your lost data not withstanding.

That's not the point now, though. I sink to the floor with my head in my hands. Seto _knows_ because he's already salvaged the data. That's why Mokie is already at school. Seto doesn't want him to witness this...whatever this is. Probably a break-up. There goes all of the trust Seto ever placed in me. He looks sad, like I just locked his eight year old self in a car with his baby brother and dumped them at the orphanage. At the moment, he doesn't look at all like the evil person I imagined at all. If anything, Seto looks absolutely shell-shocked by my notes, like an adorable puppy who was just kicked in the gut or tricked into eating sewage.

Suddenly I feel guilty, all of the baggage from the last few months catching up with me. What was I even thinking? Was I even thinking? Maybe evil is inherent in us after all. I've been a great journalist, not such a great human being. I should have at least talked to Seto. Isn't that what normal people with boring jobs do? Am I no better than those terrible people I investigate because I didn't even trust my own fiancé? Do I even deserve to look Seto in the eye after this?

The more I think about, the more I start to feel like the terrible person I must be inside. "I'll go, Seto." I say, rising from the floor. "You can send my stuff to Anzu's." It's hard to see through tears, so I fall, again, sliding comfortably into Seto's arms because he's crouching on the floor now, holding me tight.

"I'm not letting you leave that easily, Mayumi. It wasn't me, I swear. I would never hurt Miho, especially when that would hurt you. What...you didn't know I liked you in high school? Not even with that big brain of yours?"

I giggle, a strangled kind of half laugh, half snort. His shirt is all wet now. "My brain's not nearly as big as yours, Seto."

He laughs too. Then he stops. Abruptly. "I need to tell you something, Mayumi."

I look up. Grief radiates from his eyes. I cringe. "Wha...what happened, Seto?"

"Mr. Nosaka has been murdered. The suspect matches Ushio's description."

Oh no oh no oh no no no no no. That's why Ushio was here. In our house. In my office. I'm the only person this side of the continent with his address. Ushio didn't have time to go to America to rob Anzu. I must not be as good of a liar as I think I am, because Ushio found out about my real purpose and came _here_ to find Mr. Nosaka's address so he could...

_Oh_.

Seto was right about evil.

He's evil. I'm evil. We're all evil. Maybe not so blatantly like Ushio, but deep down, maybe we're all nurturing some spark of hatred. Maybe my constant push to lessen security isn't some good-hearted attempt to live but rather some cosmic scheme to punish me for whatever evil Risa divined in me. I must be the most evil person in the world. If I hadn't insisted on relaxing security, then maybe, maybe Mr. N would still be with us.

Scratch that. He would definitely be with us.

Seto says it's not my fault.

I can't but think that it is.

_Evil._

What a strange, ephemeral concept. It's evil's fault, what happened to Miho and now Mr. N. Did I invite evil in? Keep the doors and windows open and stood by as it systematically destroyed my family?

The questions are going to haunt my nightmares forever.

...

So...what do you guys think? There are two, maybe three chapters left!


	6. Masks

**Disclaimer:** Nope, still do not own YGO.

* * *

_Masks._

We all wear them.

Metaphorically and sometimes literally.

If you're me and Seto begs you (well, as much as someone with his personality supplicates, which is to say, he asks with a slight catch in his voice and without his characteristic smirk) to attend corporate events by his side, you do both at the same time, with much inner turmoil.

Why, you ask?

I've published story after story on corporate wrongdoing. Most of my subjects made the front page. The ones that don't make took exceptional glee at threatening the livelihood of all journalists, ruining the careers of many of my colleagues without so much as an extra sip of champagne. Chilled, of course, as to mask the taste of their own cruelty.

If the unscrupulous subjects had their way, I would be forever unemployed, unable to publish another word and definitely not anywhere near the places they usually frequent. I would probably be hailed as the prime example of poor little rich girl trying to think for herself. Being adopted into one of the old money families and about to marry into the (adopted) member of another makes me somehow different, exempt from my colleagues forced into early retirement. Small wonder that those I dislike most are the ones most anxious to gain my approval at Seto's various events.

According to the gossip section of the Herald (fueled by said people), my name as a socialite is considerably blackened by my profession, not that I care in the slightest except to protest the fact that we, a serious national newspaper, employ four full-time gossip columnists and one investigative crime reporter: me. That says quite a bit about our newspaper, a lot about our readership, and a hell of a lot more about the news business.

You know, I used to think that journalism was supposed to an endeavor to find the truth. How wrong I was. The goal is not so much reporting the truth as it is reporting the truths that can be reported according to the sleazy people Seto calls associates. They're no better than the people I investigate on a daily basis, sometimes worse.

Understandable that Seto insists upon daily self-defense lessons and a myriad of security protocols. The more dangerous of my subjects are already behind bars and/or dead (e.g., the leader of the Red Files), though that doesn't stop Seto from inventing increasingly complicated technological systems and assigning an undercover ninja team to follow me everywhere I go. (Which, by the way, honey, they're not very good at their job if I know about them. Not to worry, though, dear reader. I've learned enough during my undercover missions to avoid them when necessary for work. Otherwise there would be no Crime section at the Herald because there would be no story.)

Given Seto's usual obsession with security- even with a lightened set-up at my insistence last night- there is no logical explanation for how Ushio managed to evade every layer of security to obtain Mr. N's address from my office. The only reasoning that makes sense is that Ushio had someone on the inside. It's not as if I've been handing out Mr. N's contact information to every convicted felon I've interviewed (otherwise I really wouldn't have a job or a life), the suspicion is now on the household staff. Seto has the entire house is on lockdown. No one leaves and no one enters until we determine who was responsible.

Suffice it to say morale has plummeted drastically since Seto began an inquisition into who leaked the information. He's forbidden me to take part, yet I can't help but curse my investigative instincts because I've had my suspicious from the beginning that something wasn't quite right at home given the long list of people out for Seto's fortune.

Perhaps one of them made it to his innermost circle? Whoever it was has been wearing a mask that fools us all from the very beginning. Any number of people could have betrayed us, any collection of people could be in our house at this very moment plotting their next move while we try to piece together their plan. Whoever they are, one of Seto's associates probably set them on us while we weren't looking close enough.

According to the investigative task force, though, the case is simple. It goes something like this: Ushio decided I would make a great target for one of his schemes, sent one of his associates to shadow me around, obtained my fingerprints from some of the cards I dealt him, and then used my biometrics to break in. How he managed to evade the five guards stationed at every door and window here and at the prison is apparently not the task force's problem. Kaiba Corp designed the electronic security system at the prison as well as our home...a notable point of interest which to me weakens the it's all about the Nosaka case hypothesis. At the very least, someone in the Kaiba inner circle was involved in the Nosaka case, otherwise Ushio would not have made it as far as Mr. N's address.

The task force is more concerned about what Ushio did with Mr. N's address, though. From that, they concluded that Ushio and associates were responsible for Miho's disappearance and that of many others years ago. Unfortunately for Mr. N, public interest in Miho's case long since waned. That is, until I decided to re-investigate a few months ago...Then Ushio and/or his associates decided to set an example by doing away with me. Since my person is well-protected as a result of Seto's obsessive planning, so they settled on making an example of Mr. N instead.

Case closed for the investigators, right?

That pattern does make sense to them, but a few problems remain. I at no point advertised the fact that Seto and I were engaged to anyone except our closest friends. (How Risa found out is a completely different story that I don't have a logical explanation for, unless I start believing in the supernatural, which I don't.) How did Ushio know to find me here? How did he get _in_ once he knew where I was, past all of Seto's obstacles against intruders? For that matter, how the hell did Ushio get _out_, again, past all of Seto's obstacles against unauthorized access to the only roads out of the area?

And just where the hell is Ushio now?

None of these questions seemed to be of any interest to the task force (this why Seto thinks they're all fools). The part that _is_ of interest that really shouldn't be is where Ushio used my fingerprints to unlock the gates. Apparently this means that I must have been "in" on the plot, because only a brilliant criminal mind like mine would have arranged for the personal kidnapping detailed below.

_Right_...Because my almost getting killed makes so much more sense than the logical explanation of Ushio lifting my fingerprints from the playing cards or the "gifts" he asked me bring to the prison. I must have left enough fingerprints for him to bypass the initial security scans for entry during my interviews.

Once inside, someone or multiple someone must have helped.

Seto is working on the who. I've left that to him. He's completely disregarded the task force as a useful avenue of inquiry and I'm inclined to agree.

The only useful thing the task force did was to seal off my files pending a reinvestigation. Somewhere between all the yellow crime scene tape in our office is all of my notes and the ashes of what I thought were efforts to make the world a slightly better place. I find it chilling that just last night I was drinking coffee and writing and today there is no coffee, no words, just the empty click clack of my self-doubt.

I've been questioning my every move since yesterday. What if I had just left the case alone? Would Mr. N still be with us? What if I hadn't interviewed Ushio? What if I just dropped it all and crawl into a little bean bag and moped forever and ever? Would anything ever absolve me of the guilt I feel now?

Seto, ever the realist, jokes half-seriously that he makes enough money to power several continents and we should just leave it all behind. I've thought about that a lot over the past few hours. It would be easy just to abandon it all and go anywhere else, really, than here. Hardly anything is left for me and, by the looks of things, at least one person is hell-bent on making sure there is really nothing left.

Here I pause.

Mr. N would have wanted me to live as normal of a life as possible, despite the obstacles in my way. That means continuing to work, not running away, especially now. Living entails a little bit of danger, he always said.

No sense hiding from the unavoidable, anyway. Evil finds you everywhere you go.

And let's faces it- even if I were to quit my job, we would still have to contend with Seto's enemies, too. If I'm worried about the dangerous people who are behind bars, Seto is worried about the ones who aren't, the wolves who attend masquerade balls as your friend and then proceed to kidnap your brother or your fiancee the next day for leverage. The people wearing the civilized masks are even scarier than the criminals who don't need to pretend anymore.

There is no conceivable, realistic way for Seto and I to start over, unless we built a rural province under a mountain somewhere- a solution that we've discussed with more seriousness than it merited considering our goals for Mokuba.

We don't want him live in fear of every shadow from now until forever. There's always someone more evil, more cruel, more relentless out for the Kaiba name and fortune, especially now that the Kaiba plus Nosaka fortune at stake. Mokie deserves a world in which justice and fairness rule, not evil and cruelty. That's why both Seto and I chose professions designed to make the world better: he through his corporation's charity work and me through my investigative efforts.

Honestly, I've been kidnapped enough times to realize there is no such thing as perfect safety. So I've decided to wear a mask of bravery despite the dangers that surround us. I do it for Seto so he doesn't worry; I do it for Mokuba so he knows to live courageously; I do it for myself so I know I have to survive against the odds.

Inside, though, I'm scared. Beyond belief, because I'm afraid that I'm exactly the person Risa told Seto I am- a lost little child trying on adult shoes that don't quite fit. Granted, I don't buy her rant about me being an evil mastermind under my childish nature, but, that aside from that, Risa's absolutely right about my having an alter ego. The brave Mayumi face is just a mask to hide how terrified I am of losing everything.

In all fairness, though, we all wear our masks. Which one of us hasn't pretended to be someone else or a better version of themselves for one reason or another? Lying to ourselves and others is a human process, which is part of the reason why Seto and I make such and effort to as authentic as possible at home. Stripped of the faces we put on for other people, we're just Seto and Mayumi, two boring, normal people who watch TV and hold hands and pick out ties. A collection of inane, everyday rituals that bound us together.

On days like today, when we just buried Mr. N, the only family I ever had, there's not even a mask I can conjure for what I feel. Emptiness? Sadness? Numbness? I don't know. The wordsmith in me has decided to go somewhere far, far away with pretty pictures and fluffy puppies and adorable hobbies.

There's something comforting in rituals when you don't have anything left.

There's only Seto now. Sweet, darling Seto, who I cling to like a child lost at sea now- tight, so tight I leave purplish bruises he doesn't let me see for fear of making me cry again.

He's holding me, gentle and strong. He's whispering about how the Nosakas were all together now and how they would be sad to see me breaking down, now, after all the other mourners have left. He's proud of me for not crying on Anzu and Yuugi at the service...because that's the Kaiba way, to be strong for the people we care about. We're family now- him, Mokuba, and I, and oh, there are so many reasons I love that man.

The Nosakas were family, too. Without them, I probably would have grown up a bitter, cold person, like the way Seto was when I first met him. We wouldn't have found each other without the love the Nosakas shared with me, but now that they're gone I haven't let Seto out of my sight.

He senses my fear. We've been home for a week now. He's forbid me to work, confining me to the library, where I read books with discernible endings and mysteries with actual answers instead of more questions that may never lead to the happy ending I hoped for.

_Work._

That's all I have left now except Seto and Mokuba. I haven't had the sense to investigate or write, but sometimes fate has a way of finding you even when you try to avoid it. Perhaps if I find an answer I would feel like I've done something for the Nosakas instead of going utterly and completely bonkers with old classics and empty bottles.

Seto doesn't say it, but I know he's thinking I should let them rest in peace because all three of them would have wanted me to keep living. But something compels me to continue to investigate, so I do, even knowing that Seto has now quadrupled his secret ninja team to follow me around.

I can't let it go. I worked anyway. First in secret, then openly as Seto began to (finally!) return to his prototypes and other projects instead of spoon-feeding me chicken noodle soup every three hours. I have no appetite because the mystery eats at me. I just drank the broth because it was easier than seeing Mokuba worry.

And, at the end of my investigation, I found myself sitting across the table from Chuono-san, a very dangerous looking knife by my head, forced to drink some sort of tea that made me lose consciousness.

I'm fine now, if you count being permanently confined to the house by a team of very annoyed looking security guards and a very angry Seto, this time without the chicken noodle soup..._fine_...

I should say that my memories from how I got to this point are hazy, but here are the bits and pieces I do recall.

After the funeral, I've received several phone calls arranging a meeting with crucial information about Ushio's whereabouts. Fate or something like it decided it wasn't enough for me to mope on my own; someone had to rub it in, too. Just as well, perhaps, because since the task force had been unable to find his whereabouts, I put my investigative skills to good use. You collect a lot of goodwill and favors in my profession, and it was easy to reach out to my contacts and arrange a meeting with a friend of a friend who might know another friend of a friend who might know where Ushio was hiding.

I went without telling the task force or Seto's ninja team. The former didn't believe me, anyway, when I told them about my leads, and the latter...well...I didn't want them to be privy to the rather painful plans I had for Ushio's limbs.

In retrospect, agreeing to meet anonymous sources in warehouses by the Domino Pier wearing a red trench coat was not my brightest moment. Something was obviously wrong with that set-up, but blinded with grief as I was, I went anyway.

The last thing I remember seeing was the face of someone I haven't seen in a very long time.

Chuono-san was just as cruel as ever. Her face cracks as my vision blurs, millions of shards scattering across the room. She's exposed for the greedy person she always was. "What do you want?" I bleat weakly, feeling myself grow weaker.

_Money._

It always comes back to money. The Nosaka money and the Kaiba money.

The next face I saw was Ushio's.

...

When I woke up again I was home, with Seto by my side, tenderly changing bandages. I ask him what happened and he...demures...quite uncharacteristically. His fists look bruised, which given his martial arts skills could only mean the other person must be unconscious or worse. Alarmed, I press him, but he's reluctant.

I threaten half-seriously to skip Mokuba's chicken noodle soup if he wouldn't tell me. He does, but it's only the very edited version of what must have been a much more violent story.

Chuono-san, never the kind to let an opportunity pass, contacted Seto about how I...threatened her and her rather large, prison escapee/companion/former student and...fainted upon my arrival... She wanted to trade money for medical care and, of course, to ensure my safety using Ushio's bodyguard services.

Per usual, Seto did not disappoint. He brought the best private security detail money could buy and all twenty-some years of karate experience. Let's leave it at I was rescued and Chuono-san will have to rely on cosmetics to look human again. Ushio, on the other hand, won't be needing cosmetics or any other type of human luxury ever again.

He's _dead_.

How I don't know, but I'm not sorry.

I dislike violence as a rule, yet I make an exception for people like Ushio. I had only been thinking of inflicting bodily harm on his person, but the reality works just as well. Perhaps I am evil deep inside or, at least, I'm not nearly as good of a person as I thought I am. I've had the capacity to be cruel all along, though Seto spared me from having to tap into that potential. The old me would have been horrified by what just passed; the new me can't help but applaud. Maybe I'm not the person you and I thought I was after all.

During the ensuing investigation, the task force discovered a hollowed-out ring underneath one of the crates in the warehouse, the contents of which were fed to me. The lab that tested the powder inside was quarantined for two weeks. How I managed to survive is a miracle according to the doctors, though sometimes I wonder if it isn't some grand cosmic joke to give me more questions than answers.

After much encouragement from the family butler/bodyguard, Chuono-san denied using the ring to drug me. She didn't even admit to making the phone calls that lured me to the pier. She claimed to not know who Ushio is (really? You don't recognize someone you taught for four years?), just that she was supposed to meet a handsome man by the pier for a marriage interview. It's a flimsy defense, especially when phone records indicated the calls originated from a payphone near her home and Ushio's hideout.

She won't be seeing sunlight again for quite some time.

At this point in the story Seto fluffs the pillows. The veins in his hands beat in thudding waves. My brain is too tired to process what he's saying, so I listen like children do to lullabies- listening but not comprehending until...he says it's a good thing the family butler keeps a log of incoming phone calls, otherwise they wouldn't have found me in time...

In time for what? I ask him even though I already know the answer.

He doesn't answer, but his gaze lingers just a fraction too long on the ring he gave me so long ago under the plum blossoms.

The question is in his eyes and mine answer yes.

_We're married now._

I'm still working though, much to Seto's chagrin. We've argued over and over- the first real, blow-up fight we've ever had in six years- because I can't let it go.

Why?

Because someone besides Chuono-san masterminded the entire plot. Where else would they have known about the Nosaka will and would reference the Nosaka fortune for my ransom demand? The Kaiba fortune, sure, but not the Nosaka fortune. Not even I knew that Mr. N had chosen to leave all of the funds to me and not Anzu because the will conveniently disappeared as soon as the funeral concluded. Only someone with inside access could have have arranged for the Nosaka will to disappear from our secure vault, incapacitate me, and then extort Seto for both fortunes in the process.

It was a nice touch, adding Ushio in the mix and trying to tie up this investigation with the Nosaka cases. The more red herrings, the better, right?

Whoever that betrayed us must have had knowledge of both of our project schedules. The only people who know which projects to remove and store in the vault (yes, we keep our projects in an actual vault) disclosed enough of Seto's security procedures so Ushio could break in. That's why our security procedures failed. Conveniently, Ushio is no longer around to implicate his employers. Which one of the faces I see on a daily basis planned this for us? Who's wearing a mask and who's sincerely loyal?

I don't know; I want to know; I can't rest now until I do.

Let it be, Seto begs. Come with me to Paris, Milan, anywhere, he says, and we'll start over. Move the company, the house, the whole deal. Or just leave everything behind. He doesn't care as long as I'm safe. We could leave all the money, too. Just start over. Me and him. As bakers or baristas or something completely normal. No more kidnappings, no more investigations, no more threats. Just us against the world, two orphans who never really had a chance to be happy finally making a run for it.

But I can't. Not even when he asks me with tears in his beautiful eyes because he's afraid of what will happen to me the next time I fall for such a stupid trick. He doesn't even worry that I'm merely a pawn designed to break him; all he cares about is my safety.

And that's why I'll find the truth for you, Seto.

Because I love you.

Because you love me.

Because we're family and no one is going to break us apart, not when I have a say in it.

...

Feedback? One more chapter left!


	7. Betrayal

**Disclaimer**: I do not own YGO.

..

Betrayal

...

Betrayal is a gut-wrenching feeling. It's that feeling of being completely gutted, lost to the world, so confused as to the state of your life that you don't even know who you are anymore, let alone the person you once thought you were.

I should know.

After all, I've just spent the past few days staring into space, trying desperately to reassemble what's left of my life. I don't have a job anymore. (I quit). I don't have many friends left, either. (They quit). And, more importantly, I don't have a husband, either. (He quit on me, for a very good reason.)

There's nothing like starting what you think will be the rest of your life with someone you think the world of...only to have the investigative task force crash your honeymoon to let you know that, in actuality, you've just married a monster who set you up as the mastermind behind one of the most infamous crimes of the century.

I guess those agents weren't nearly as stupid as they led Seto to believe. All of their efforts to obtain my case notes after Ushio broke in? Really an effort to gather evidence against Seto.

My notes were a great help, apparently, in building the case for his guilt for Miho's disappearance and Mr. Nosaka's murder.

Like that's supposed to make me feel better, I guess? Either I'm the worst investigative journalist alive or I'm the worst wife ever. Either way I feel like my worldview has been flattened by a large truck named Reality.

Stupid, _stupid_ me. How could I have missed all of the signs?

_Motive. Opportunity. Means. _

Seto had it all then and he has it all now. He had plenty of reasons to want Miho and the Nosakas out of the way as a teenager looking to consolidate his grip on Japan's technological industry. As for opportunity, well, it can't be that hard when you go to high school with your intended target, right? Slipping something into Miho's soup would have been easy. Finding her after school to go shopping or some other random excuse would have been plausible, too, especially if Miho had no reason to be suspicious of someone she considered as a friend or acquaintance, as Seto used to be. From there it would have been a simple case of tapping into one's inner evil and handling the situation, as it were.

Handling, that is, until I came along with my lofty ideals and terrible puns. Since I'm immune to pretty much all efforts for "voluntary" retirement, Seto must have opted for a different tactic to keep track of my investigations.

_Love._

_Or the impression of it, at least to me._

I don't even believe in that anymore, not after what happened. Maybe I never really did. I grew up without love. Maybe that's why I didn't fight as hard as I should have for it. We should have left while we had the chance. Perhaps we would have been happily, if delusionally happy, then. Or perhaps I shouldn't have come back at all. I should have stayed in America, far, far away from Seto and Domino and everyone that reminded me of the person I used to be. Maybe I would have been happy then, too.

Orphans who are abandoned like I was seldom have the finer emotional range of children with doting parents. Maybe that's why I was so surprised by Miho and her family's warm welcome. What I wouldn't have done to be a part of a real family as a child. It's one thing to read about it in all the books and see it in the movies, it's quite another to call yourself someone's daughter, someone's wife, someone's mother. I think I would have been part of a good family...or perhaps just part of a family that didn't end up on the front page of the Herald as the prime example of the corrosive powers of money and greed and power.

Maybe I didn't believe hard enough in love, so love failed me when I needed it most. Risa was right. People didn't fight hard enough for me when I was a child. That's why I don't fight nearly as hard as I should have for Seto and Mokuba. In a way I've just wrecked all that love with my bare hands...stupid, _stupid_ me.

The task force tore our house apart looking for patterns and clues.

The money that was missing from Miho's deposits?

Sequential bills locked in our safe, stack after stack.

Miho's personal effects?

Side by side in another safe.

Those phone calls that supposedly originated from the payphone near Chuono-san's apartment?

Spoofed signals originating from our home office.

That date Chunono-san was supposed to go on?

Also from the Kaiba Corps main computer frame.

The powder I was forced to drink?

Synthesized at the Kaiba Corps laboratories, open only to Seto and his immediate circle.

_Etc., etc., etc._

How easy it must have been to track my every move. I keep all my notes in plain view or in my laptop, both of which are easily accessible to everyone in the house, Seto included. It would have been simple to set up a trail of breadcrumbs for me to follow on the case when my editors couldn't "persuade" me to drop my investigation. The trail went cold several times because someone deliberately arranged it to freeze over. Key witnesses such as Bakura were made to disappeared by someone with enormous influence and money. Arranging Ushio's escape was a premeditated move, too. Nothing easier than to press the button that opened and closed the front gates so he could obtain Mr. N's address from my files. Disposing of Ushio after he outlived his usefulness must have been part of the plan, too.

My surviving may or may not have been a goal. Perhaps it was even _the_ goal, so I can live to tell the tale of how my investigation ended in blazing flames of pain?

Stupid, _stupid_ me. People don't change. Truth exists no matter how hard I struggle to paint it over with witty sayings and pretty pictures. The patterns were all there. I just refused to see them. Impressions are just fluctuating images of the same reality, lies that we layer page after page to mask the evil that lives within all of us.

...

Betrayal is a gut-wrenching feeling.

_Seto_ should know.

After all, I framed him.

...

So...surprised?

**TARMAC**\- **T**he **M**urder of **R**oger **A**ckroyd, by **A**gatha **C**hristie


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